Rebel Jesus
by MissBubbles
Summary: Galahad contemplates what Christmas really means to him.


Disclaimer: I don't own Galahad or any of the characters mentioned (much to my disappointment). The song 'Rebel Jesus' belongs to Jackson Browne.

Author's note: Wanted to write something and figured festivity was needed. Here's how I think Galahad might have seen Christmas Day.  
This is set a few years after Badon Hill.

Rebel Jesus 

_All the streets are filled with laughter and light  
And the music of the season  
And the merchants' windows are all bright  
With the faces of the children  
And the families hurrying to their homes  
As the sky darkens and freezes  
They'll be gathering around the hearths and tales  
Giving thanks for God's graces  
And the birth of the rebel Jesus_

Galahad's breath turned to mist before him as he stepped out into the cold winter's night. He breathed in deeply, shaking his head in attempt to get rid of that irritating song Arthur had been humming to himself all day. Taking a few steps forward, he sighed as he heard the familiar crunch of snow beneath his boot. It reminded him of the coldest months back at Hadrian's Wall.

When he'd first arrived at the fort, snow was still considered a novelty and his first winters had been spent throwing snowballs at Bors and teaming up with Gareth and Gawain to build a snow fort, which would protect them from any missiles thrown at them in return. Tristan would often join them in their game. Seemingly snow had made him happy then, before, like Galahad, it had meant nothing but cold, misery and lack of anything good to eat. As far as Galahad could remember, the only one who had liked snow after five years at the fort had been Arthur, for Gods knew what reason.

_  
Well they call him by the Prince of Peace  
And they call him by the Saviour  
And they pray to him upon the seas  
And in every bold endeavour  
As they fill his churches with their pride and gold  
And their faith in him increases  
But they've turned the nature that I worshipped in  
From a temple to a robber's den  
In the words of the rebel Jesus_

Walking out into the dark, Galahad twisted his hands into his cloak and pulled it tighter about him. Kicking up some of the white powder at his feet and watching it fly up at his ankles and then drift back down to rest a foot or so ahead of him, he swallowed, wondering why such an action made him want to cry, before deciding it reminded him of Lancelot. He had no idea why; it just seemed like something his fellow knight would have once done – having had a few ales and complaining about how much Arthur's humming was getting on his nerves.

Galahad knew that in actuality Lancelot had thought Arthur's humming amusing and that he would have worried far more had it ever stopped. After all, it was part of their commander's festivities. He would hum; give all of his knights some sort of gift and be happier than any of them had seen him throughout the entire year. The routine had been the same every year, including this. Arthur had hummed the same tune constantly for weeks, given Galahad a new bone handled dagger and smiled like a maniac all day. Lancelot wasn't there to complain though and that's what Galahad missed the most. This season just wasn't the same without him.

_  
We guard our world with locks and guns  
And we guard our fine possessions  
And once a year when Christmas comes  
We give to our relations  
And perhaps we give a little to the poor  
If the generosity should seize us  
But if any one of us should interfere  
In the business of why they are poor  
They get the same as the rebel Jesus_

Shaking some of the settled snow from his curls, Galahad coughed twice and stopped walking. He had been planning on a visit to the tavern, but at the thought of drinking alone, decided against it. He bit down on his lip and wondered where Gawain was at this present moment. His best friend had disappeared eight months previously, back to Sarmatia in search of his family and, if he could find a lady pretty enough, a wife. Galahad had been alone ever since. He spent more time than usual with Bors, Vanora and their various children and he would often go riding with Arthur, but somehow it just wasn't the same.

He'd spent the winter Solstice alone, having ridden back to Badon Hill because he still couldn't bare the though of being anywhere else for the shortest day. Two days ago he had ridden back to Camelot, so that he could spend this so-called Christmas with Arthur, just to see him smile. It always made Galahad glad to see Arthur smile because, since Lancelot's death, he didn't do it often enough. Guinevere made him happy, but she couldn't make him smile like Lancelot had; no one could.

_But please forgive me if I seem  
To take the tone of judgement  
For I've no wish to come between  
This day and your enjoyment_

Fingering the handle of his new blade, Galahad pondered giving Vanora and Bors another visit, but decided against it as he felt that he had already spent too much time at their house these past days not to have caused an annoyance and figured they deserved at least one day without his perpetuated moaning. Shuffling his feet in the snow, he began to chew on his bottom lip when he realised that he didn't actually have anywhere to go except back to his own rooms. Sighing and turning to go back the way he had come, he took one step before-

"Galahad!"

The young knight turned to look behind him. Arthur was standing a short distance away. He had Guinevere's arm linked through his own and was looking at Galahad cheerfully. Galahad turned back to face them and took a step forward.

"Arthur."

His commander cleared his throat and looked to his wife, who nodded encouragingly.

"We were wondering if you would like to join us for a walk?"

From the tone of Arthur's voice, Galahad knew he was expecting to be turned down. Casting a glance over his shoulder, to the darkened windows he knew were his rooms, Galahad smiled softly to himself and began to trudge towards the couple.

"Thanks."

Arthur looked vaguely surprised, but the expression soon morphed into one of delight.

"For what do I need thanking?"

Galahad raised his eyebrows as the three of them began walking together, making tracks through the heaped snow.

"A great deal of things really. I was personally referring to the way you oblige me to celebrate this thing called Christmas."

"I thought you didn't like Christmas."

Galahad laughed, sharing a sideways glance with Guinevere.

"I like Christmas, I just-"

He was interrupted when a ball of snow hit his right ear. On recovering from the immediate shock of the assault, he turned to see Guinevere with a hand over her mouth, attempting to subdue her laughter and Arthur bent double in the snow, bracing himself on his knees and wheezing with mirth.

"Sorry Galahad, you just sounded so serious!"

Narrowing his eyes, Galahad dusted snow from his shoulder before bending and gathering up a snowball of his own.

"If we're throwing snow at people for being too serious…"

Arthur didn't know what had hit him.

Galahad enjoyed Christmas. He may not believe in Arthur's God, but someone had to teach Arthur the meaning of fun; it just seemed Galahad was the only one prepared to do so right now.

_In this life of hardship and of earthly toil  
We have need for anything that frees us  
So I bid you pleasure  
And I bid you cheer  
From a heathen and a pagan  
On the side of the rebel Jesus.

* * *

_

_Author's Note: Hope you liked it. Happy Christmas Everyone and have an excellent New Year!_


End file.
